The Dreadnought Boys on Aero Service

"When they's lost," struck in another lad.

This was good news to Ned. Leaving the lads to guard the machine, he entered the post-office. The postmaster imperturbably sold him five gallons of gasolene. Ned recollected that he couldn't pay for it. But, unfortunately, this did not occur to him till he had emptied it into the tank.

Hardly had he done so, and was starting back to the store with explanations, when the postmaster, who was also telegraph operator, appeared in the doorway of his emporium. He was waving a yellow telegram.

"Hold that feller, one of yer!" he shouted. "That thar's a stolen sky-buggy, and he's no better than a thief!"

A dozen men started forward to lay hands on Ned.

But a sudden determination had come to the lad. He was within striking distance of the fleet. It was his duty to warn the officers of the peril that menaced their vessels.

A rough hand seized his arm. Ned flung it off. At the same instant his fists drove full at a big fellow – the village blacksmith – who tried to bar his path, swinging a heavy hammer.

"Stand clear!" shouted Ned, as he sprang into the seat of his machine – or rather Professor Luminetti's – "this machine isn't stolen —it's borrowed on Uncle Sam's service!"

The next instant the machine skyrocketed upward, leaving behind it a trail of smoke, and sensation that furnished talk for the village of Blackhaven for more than a year.

CHAPTER XXV

THE MYSTERIOUS SCHOONER – CONCLUSION

"Bulkley, do you see some object in the air – off there to the northwest?"

Commander Dunham, of the Dreadnought Manhattan, paused in his steady pacing of the after deck, and turned to Ensign Bulkley, the officer of the deck.

Ensign Bulkley brought into play the insignia of his diurnal office, a powerful telescope, done in brown leather, with polished, black metal trimmings. With it, he swept the sky in the direction indicated by his superior, for some minutes.

"I do see something, sir," he said presently, "a black object, like a large bird. But it's bigger than any bird I ever saw. By Jove, sir, it's – it's an aeroplane!"

"An aeroplane! Impossible. How could one find its way to Blackhaven Bay? And what could be its errand here?"

"I've no idea, sir. But I'll wager my commission that it is one. Suppose you look yourself, sir?"

The officer of the deck handed his telescope to his commanding officer. Commander Dunham gazed intently through it for a few moments. Then he turned to Bulkley.

"By all that's wonderful, you're right, Mr. Bulkley. It seems to be coming this way, too."

"Not a doubt of it, sir. But at the rate it is advancing it should not be long before we are aware of its errand."

"At all events, it will relieve the monotony, Bulkley. Anchored here since yesterday and no orders yet. However, I suppose mine practice and general gunnery will be the program."

"I expect so, sir," was the response.

Both officers gazed over the leaden expanse of the landlocked bay about them.

Five battleships, two cruisers, and three torpedo-boat destroyers lay at anchor, in regular files. Hard by was a "parent ship," with her flotilla of submarines nestling alongside, like small chickens round a motherly old hen.

"Desolate country hereabouts," said Commander Dunham presently. "I shouldn't have thought that an airman could have found his way here."

"It hardly seems possible," agreed his junior; "it's as barren a bit of coast as can be imagined."

The aeroplane drew closer. Its outlines were quite apparent now. On every vessel of the fleet excitement over its approach was now visible. Bright bits of bunting began to "wig-wag" the news from ship to ship. On every foredeck jackies almost suspended the tasks in hand to watch the oncoming of the aerial craft.

"What a contrast, Bulkley," observed Commander Dunham presently. "See that old sloop off there to seaward? She is of an almost obsolete type, while above us is coming the herald of a new era in peace, as well as war."

"That is so, sir. But that sloop, obsolete as she may appear, is quite fast. I understand she has been tacking about the fleet all day. I wonder what she wants?"

"Some fisherman, probably. However, see that she does not come too close. In confidence, Bulkley, I have been warned, in common with every other commander of the fleet, to beware of a band of daring anarchists who, it appears, have made no secret abroad of their intention to damage the United States navy."

The navy officer showed no surprise. It is a common enough incident for warnings of the same character. The mail of the navy department at Washington is always full of letters – some of them menacing in tone – from over-zealous apostles of "universal peace." Occasionally, too, a spy is unearthed serving in Uncle Sam's uniform. Such fellows are usually deported quietly and swiftly.

"I shall keep an eye on that sloop, sir, in that case," said the ensign, "but I'm afraid it will be difficult to do so before very long."

"How is that, Bulkley?"

The ensign waved his hand seaward. A hazy sort of atmosphere enveloped the horizon.

"Fog, eh?" commented the commander.

"Yes, sir. It will be all about us soon, or I'm mistaken. But look, sir, that aeroplane is almost above us."

"By George! – so it is. What's the aviator doing? He's signalling us. He's pointing downward, Bulkley, too."

"Looks as if he wanted to land on our decks, sir."

"It does. Hark! What's that he's shouting? Pshaw, I can't hear. Tell you what, Bulkley, order the aerial landing platform rigged at once. It ought not to take more than fifteen minutes."

"I'll have it done at once, sir."

The officer hastened off on his errand. A scene of bustle ensued. A hundred jackies were busy transporting sections of the adjustable platform on which Ned had landed on the occasion of his great triumph. The scene appeared to be involved in inextricable confusion. But each man had his task to perform, and each pursued it industriously. Before long the platform was up – all but the flooring. The work of laying this on the steel uprights and skeleton supporting structure was soon accomplished.

All this time the mysterious aerial visitant had been hovering aloft. But his task of keeping above the battleship was getting momentarily more and more difficult. The atmosphere was rapidly thickening. In white wraiths and billows the fog, which Ensign Bulkley had prophesied, came rolling in. Beads of moisture gathered on everything. From the deck the tops of the basket-like military masts grew every minute more difficult to espy. The aeroplane, circling in space, was a mere blur.

"All ready, sir," announced Ensign Bulkley before long. By this time the after-deck was crowded with officers. All were gazing upward into the steamy fog.

"Give him a signal, Bulkley," ordered the commander.

"He'll find it hard to see one, sir."

"Signal the bridge, then, to blow three blasts on the siren. He can hear that."

"Hoo-oo-o-o-o! Hoo-oo-o-o-o! Hoo-o-o-o-o!"

A few seconds later the uncanny voice of the siren cut the mist. Without hesitation, the dim object in the fog above them, began to come downward. It swung through the thick air rapidly. In a short time it was off the stern of the Manhattan, and ten minutes after the signal had sounded Ned Strong ran his aeroplane upon the landing platform so speedily erected.

But if the manner of his arrival had been sensational, the effect it created was even more so.

"It's Strong! The man we were wirelessed had decamped with part of Lieutenant De Frees' funds!" exclaimed Captain Dunham amazedly.